


Hope and Fear with the Galaxy Ablaze

by FireBatVillain



Category: Stellaris (Video Game)
Genre: A cold war getting hot, Alien Character(s), Alien Cultural Differences, Alien Culture, Alien Mythology/Religion, Democracy, First Contact, Gen, Stagnant Ascendancies going at it, Stagnant Ascendancy, The War in Heaven (Stellaris), You're either with us or against us
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:27:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21832918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireBatVillain/pseuds/FireBatVillain
Summary: Vak B’torak is a young Tumbatoran ready to take his first steps into The Hall of Clan Histories and become an adult. He will learn of the past, grow in the present, and prepare for a future. With two Fallen Empires stirring and seeking to make a battlefield of the galaxy, the Galactic Tumbatoran Clans may find themselves in great peril.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 24
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Hope and Fear with the Galaxy Ablaze

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shadowlover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowlover/gifts).



> Thanks to d&f for the brainstorming help, and thanks to Shadowlover for this lovely prompt! Stellaris is one of my favorite games and settings, so I played a little bit and got familiar with some of my favorite event chains to prepare for this fic. I hope you enjoy this!

The Hall of Clan Histories was larger than Vak expected it would be. He knew, intellectually, that a museum of the Tumbator Clans going back to the dawn of history would need to be large, particularly if every child on the continent would visit in their coming-of-age ceremony. The museum in front of him dwarfed his expectations, even so. To the casual onlooker, the central structure was wrought of stone and iron, with inlaid metal spelling out its name: The Hall of Clan Histories. Vak knew from his study circle that it was made of sturdier alien materials than met the eye. Arching buttresses lay against either side of the entry hall, and a steady flow of youths made their way through the open doors. Like many Tumbator structures, it was laid wide and deep to accommodate their broad forms, and the few Human tourists seemed diminutive next to the massive structures.

“What do I do now, aunt?” asked Vak B’torak.

“Pass through the doors,” replied Third Aunt Bassim. “Take your time to admire the engravings, and don’t forget to keep moving. On my first time through, I spent far too long at the beginning and didn’t make enough time for the rest of the exhibit. You’ll have plenty of chances to study the statuary later, so make sure to survey everything.”

They embraced, and Third Aunt Bassim’s ancient rough clasp-pads felt tender against Vak’s. Her tail was too weak to close fully any more, so he helped her form the sacred hug, as a worthy descendant must. She held him for a moment, and he did not wish to let go. However, as a worthy descendant also must, finally he pulled away, and passed alone through the open doors into The Hall of Clan Histories.

The structure seemed even more impressive from within, its vaulted ceilings seeming to fade into the sky, with light filling the room with no visible emitters. It was truly a holy place. Vak inhaled deeply, and as he closed his eyes, he could feel the gaze of the Ancestor Gods upon him. The attention of his forebears made him anxious and hopeful, filling him with a nervous energy. Would he live up to their expectations? He opened his eyes, ready to meet his fate, and learn the history of his people.

The first hall depicted the Age of Legends. It was a time before organized oral history, and so little was known other than the stories of the Ancestor Gods. Great figures were engraved and frescoed across the walls, Tumbator warriors and hunters and herders leading the clans across the steppes, through the forests, into the mountains and valleys of Scorak. The blessed Ancestor Gods were each shown in their moments of greatness. Vak felt them watching over him, and made his prayers to each of them: Uthia the clan-mother, Hortle who tamed fire, Roddle who rode the first Y’glara, Shondana who taught grace, and Pattifine the weakest.

“Watch over me,” he prayed. “Let my decisions be just, and our people be blessed. I will make you proud, greatest of Ancestor Gods.”

Long forbidding pillars rose to hold up the ceiling, blocking his way. He carefully picked his way between them, careful not to let his tail or broad shoulders touch them. The other Tumbator around him also stepped carefully, for even this was a trial of sorts.

The second hall depicted the Age of War. Countless years passed in this Age, their histories immortalized in spoken word, passed by ritual from elder to younger, until the creation of the first weave-words. With a world to explore, the Clans did battle in the names of the Ancestor Gods, and boundless Tumbator blood was spilled, by axe and spear and sword. Were it not for Biroi the maker of peace, this may have gone on forever, the Tumbator grinding themselves into dust before they had a chance to explore the sea of stars.

“Guide me, Biroi,” he prayed. “Let me not repeat the follies of the Age of War.”

There was no barrier between the second hall and the third, but Vak lingered long in this hall, reading the weave-words and impressing the dark images he saw into his mind.

The third hall depicted the Age of Enlightenment. A long mural stretched from one end of the hall to the next, showing the united Tumbator Clans coming together to create a better society. Great advances were made in language, art, chemistry, physics, engineering, and even basic spaceflight, along with many other fields, and the world changed. It was an age of peace and prosperity that spread across all of Scorak. Vak had to force himself to read the mural slowly, and not skip to the exciting part. He would never dishonor the accomplishments of his ancestors if he could help it.

At last, he arrived at the halfway point in the mural. Everyone experiences the depiction of first contact differently, it is said. Vak has read it in his textbooks, seen it in holoprojections, and heard the story told, but to see it in a mural that stretched so tall truly nourished his soul. The crash-landing of UNS Tishtrya onto Scorak was depicted with great beauty. Vak marveled at the painted Human ship, bleeding smoke and limping down to the ground, crew injured and frightened. He snorted in delight at the brilliant carvings of the historic meeting between Pollog Stargrasper and the alien Lieutenant Ardi Legrand. This was where history was made, he knew, as he devoured the rest of the mural. The repairs to UNS Tishtrya, the creation of the First Three Frigates, the crew of Tumbator and Humans leading UNS Tishtrya triumphantly back to Earth—

Vak so much to learn!

* * *

10 Years Later

Cal B’Eren smoothed out his clothes—human-style garments with the ridiculous lapels and buttons, designed to set the bigwigs at ease. He couldn’t afford to be anything other than his best as he conducted his interview. Holo-projections of this interview would be broadcast across the Galactic Tumbator Clans, but more importantly, the United Nations of Earth. With the conflict between the Chroniclers and the Guardians heating up, he had a responsibility to shed light on the truth, and help his people find their way in the vision of the Ancestor Gods. Any appearance of animosity toward the godless Humans would taint the message, and more importantly, there was still a chance that the Humans might be saved, if he could convince them.

The show’s opening was simple enough. Cal B’Eren had over a decade of interview and talk show experience under his belt, and the words flowed easily for him: he gave opening quips, a summary of events, and at last, he introduced his guest.

“Please welcome to the show Dr. Vak B’torak! Dr. B’torak is considered by many to be the premiere researcher of xenohistory, and his most recent book, _Aliens to Humans_ , is on the shelves now. You may have heard him from his announcement of candidacy for Clan Representative…”

Vak B'torak seemed remarkably skinny and hairless, like a human’s idea of what a Tumbator ought to look like. He too was wearing ridiculous human-style garments, though unlike Cal he had a clan sash tied proudly across his shoulder. His voice was tinny and unpleasant to his ears, but as a consummate professional, Cal gave no outward sign of his discomfort.

“Thank you for having me on the show, Cal,” Vak said, offering the traditional hand-sign of greeting.

Cal did not return the quisling’s gesture, opting instead to immediately begin the interview.

“Well, let’s dive right in. After the alarming actions of the mysterious Lox’Ungrak-Va Guardians and the terrifying Bhenn’Thell Chroniclers, I’m sure many in the audience are wondering: just what’s going on out there, and who are these people?”

“Great question, Cal. Well, to make things simple, the Chroniclers and the Guardians are both ancient civilizations spanning back hundreds—or perhaps thousands—of years as interstellar powers. Our archaeological surveys have found remnants of their dwellings on planets across this sector of the galaxy, and it seems they once settled much of the Milky Way, despite their present seclusion.”

“So they’ve been around a long time.”

“Exactly.”

“Dr. B’torak, we’ve all seen the clip of the famous brawl at the GTO council meeting, but let’s play it again, just so our studio audience here can refresh themselves.”

Cal took a moment to relax and have a sip of water while the clip played. The massive fistfight that broke out between the Guardians and the Chroniclers (and their respective allies) was great content, and he could sense the audience lapping it up. The pretense of neutrality was important to establish at first, but after this, it was time to go on the offensive. Once the clip finished, he asked another question.

“What has them at each other’s throats now, of all times? Why did the Chroniclers cause the breakdown of the Galactic Trade Organization?”

B’torak paused for a moment, as though thinking over his answer. “They didn’t do it alone, it takes two to tussle: it was a mutually escalating set of insults. The GTO scandal was just the latest expression of a centuries-long feud between these two empires. The Guardians see themselves as protectors of certain holy sites throughout the galaxy, and are very hostile to the Chroniclers' philosophy of recording, research, and material exploitation. Likewise, the Chroniclers see themselves as important witnesses to galactic events, and have not hesitated to send their ships into interdicted territories—particularly in the last two years.”

“What has been going on in the last two years?”

“Well, starting early last year, the Chroniclers have been sending more and more observation fleets out into the galaxy. Before this, they had been largely passive observers. We could barely get them to talk to us! Now, they attend every galactic political event of note, whether they are invited or not. Within a year, the Guardians were attending the same events, despite being even more reclusive. The Chroniclers and Guardians got along terribly, regularly causing diplomatic incidents, and several times almost escalating to violence.”

“Those Chroniclers sure are troublemakers! So what’s this we hear about their diplomatic delegations visiting us?”

“As of last week, everyone has heard the news. Both the Chroniclers and the Guardians are trying to enter into negotiations with us—the UNE and the Galactic Tumbator Clans—to join their diplomatic unions.”

“Now for the million ducat question: What do you think we should do? I think I can speak for most Tumbators here when I say that the spiritual and open nature of the Guardians seems more appealing than the strict, sterile and materialist bent of the Chronicler society, probably enough to ward off even a human!”

“It’s not that simple. Neither the Chroniclers nor the Guardians have our best interests at heart. While our people and the humans may have some disagreements on spiritual matters, we are both, at our core, societies built around individual freedoms and egalitarianism. The Chroniclers see freedom as a variable to be controlled. The Guardians see it as a source of heresy to be contained. The very fact that we can have this frank exchange of views would be anathema to either of these empires.”

Cal frowned. It looked like he had a debate on his hands. Sending a prayer up to the Ancestor Gods, he prepared his next attack.

“It seems unlikely that two different great empires could be equally bad. Just because there are two options doesn’t mean we must equivocate between the two of them, Doctor. You must have an opinion here, and there are the facts to consider. After all, the Scyldari Confederacy joined the Guardians just recently, did they not?” he asked. “And from all reports, their economy has improved a great deal. Perhaps they were blessed by their good decisions!”

Dr. B’torak shook his head. “I am afraid not. The improvement is largely a result of the economic sanctions from the Guardians being lifted, and the standard of living is still well below where it was just a couple years ago.”

“Then surely you don’t mean to suggest we should join the Chroniclers?” asked Cal with a grin. “The Kel-Azaan Republic seems to be regretting their decision dearly, if the recent influx of refugees from them anything to go by.”

Dr B’torak had an answer prepared for that question, and the next one, and had a few replies of his own that put Cal on the back foot. It was going to be a tough interview.

* * *

Months passed, then years, and soon it became clear that peace would not last. The Bhenn’Thell Chroniclers now styled themselves regulators of the galaxy, and their fleets swept from one system to the next looking for irregular usage of technology. They pressed the fleets of their Satellite Nations into service as well. Few empires dared turn their ships back. The Lox’Ungrak-Va Guardians become enforcers of their doctrines, and the vast swarms of ships they and their Dominions sent out pushed species off of holy worlds and enforced spiritual purity all across the galaxy. Every nation had to deal with constant border incursions from one or both of these ancient empires.

Several times, fleets from the Chroniclers and the Guardians had nearly clashed, conflict barely avoided as they passed by each other or one side retreating without shots fired. It was only a matter of time before these two ancient empires would come to blows, and across the galaxy, every polity was asking itself what side to take. Side with the Guardians, and lose your freedom of movement? Or side with the Chroniclers, and lose your freedom of conscience? And no matter who you sided with, no true individual liberties would be permitted.

War was nascent, it was inevitable, and it would plunge the galaxy into chaos, all for an ancient grudge between two powerful empires, once fallen, now resurgent. Officially, the UNE and the Galactic Tumbator Clans were in negotiations with both the Chroniclers and the Guardians, but that would not last long, and everyone knew it. It was said in the shade of the anara trees on Scorak, it was whispered from one Tumbator to another in the clan lodges of Kanor, and it was on the minds of young Tumbators as they ventured into the Hall of Clan Histories on every continent on every planet: war was coming, with all of its horror and terror, all of its waste and death and struggle, and no-one would be left unscathed.

* * *

Secret negotiations had at last come to a head, and the leaders of two nations met in the space fortress over Earth. Drinks in hand, they gazed out over the planet, as the poisonous document lay before them.

Primus Vak B’torak, leader of the Galactic Tumbator Clans, eyed the human Secretary-General over his beverage. He thought her strange-looking: she was nearly furless, and incredibly narrow and stunted, like all of her species. At last, he spoke.

“So, it is done.”

“You know, our analysts figured you’d end up siding with the Guardians,” said the Secretary-General. “No offense, but you lot always seemed far too interested in your ‘ancestor-gods’ to stay out of this one.”

Primus Vak B’torak slowly shook his head. “If they truly thought that, your anthropologists have failed you utterly.”

“They gave it a 70% chance,” said the Secretary-General with a snort.

“Then they only failed you by 70%,” he said. Vak set his glass down on the table, and after a pause, continued. “You know, when our people first met, you saw us in our most mature stage of pre-warp civilization. We had long since outgrown the wars and conflicts of our youth. Though we still retain much of that warrior culture, Tumbatoran society is built on both strength and equality. We believe in the power of the individual, the importance of the personal journey. Our spirituality, above all else, stems from choice. In ancient days, warrior culture stemmed from choice. It is egalitarianism that drives us, and it is freedom that is the core of the Tumbator soul. That is why we have stayed by your side, though our peoples have had our disagreements.”

“Oh?”

“You always offered us a choice. Trade, research sharing, free migration between our peoples, mutual defense—all given freely, all chosen both by us and by you. Even this secret league you are forming now is presented as a choice. I am sure your advisors would prefer we never have been told of its existence, out of fear we would report it to the Lox’Ungrak-Va Guardians.”

“I will admit,” the Secretary-General said, “the thought crossed our minds.”

“I’ve read your histories, Secretary-General. I know that this was not always in your nature. I know of the imperialism that once defined your species, and how you overcame it in time. You were not always the angels you are think yourselves now. I was a historian, you know, before I became a politician. And still, you offered this to us. A choice. Something the Guardians never would offer anyone, no matter how spiritual they may be. It is for that reason that we will become members of the League of Non-Aligned Nations. Your other signatories—the Ceracans, the Tycori, the Ziracans—they may not know what is coming. They think this League will bring them peace, or that it is their only choice. We are not so foolish. We know that this League will bring us war as surely as firing upon a foe would. Neither the Guardians nor the Chroniclers will abide while so many of us seek our own path. They would rather see the galaxy burn in their feud. They would rather see every species used as kindling for the bonfire they will make: a pyre the size of the galaxy.”

The two leaders turned their sights back out over the world, and to the stars, and the galaxy behind it, a galaxy now full of ancient and terrible enemies.

They contemplated the treaty they signed, and the war it would inevitably bring.

After a moment, Vak continued. “If it could have been any other way, the Ancestor Gods would have revealed it to me. Sadly, there is nothing else. So, Secretary-General, you have our aid. The League of Non-Aligned Nations is our last, best, hope.”


End file.
